


the kissing booth

by brucewaynery



Series: iron man bingo fills [3]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Iron Man Bingo 2019, Kissing Booths, M/M, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Teacher Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaynery/pseuds/brucewaynery
Summary: "Whatever you're going to, please don't put Mr. Rogers in jail," Harley says, from his place in Peter's lap."I want Mr. Rogers to get with my dad, not in gen pop!"Or, HarleyPeter tries to set up Mr. Rogers and Peter's dad via a school carnival kissing booth





	the kissing booth

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone wants to make this into a netflix movie hmu

“Out of all of the ideas you’ve had, this is the one with the highest percentage of stupidity,” Harley says, tugging his lollipop out of his mouth just to see Peter’s brain buffer a little.

“Asking you out was my dumbest idea,” Peter mutters, very pointedly looking at the design for a kissing booth for the school charity carnival in the back of his maths book and not at Harley. They’d gotten permission to make the booth, against all reason. But then again, it was Mr. Barton running the fair, he’s rumoured to have been in the circus when he was younger, but none of the teachers confirm nor deny a thing.

“No it wasn’t,” he says grinning, he shamelessly replaces the maths book in Peter’s lap with his head. He butts Peter’s hand with his head until he starts stroking his hair.

“You’re a cat,” Peter says, so fond to the point that he can’t even pretend to be annoyed, smiling. Harley hums, pleased, “Nice to know.”

Peter’s quiet for all of two seconds before he reaches for his book again, “I genuinely think that this is gonna work.”

“Petey. I don’t think Mr. Roger is gonna wanna take part of something where, y’know, underage kids might kiss him?” Harley likes Peter a lot, like a _lot_ a lot, even his sister is on board, but he can be, for lack of better phrasing, an absolute moron. (His moron though.)

Peter rolls his eyes, “No, _obviously_, there’s gonna be an ‘over 21’ section, I want Mr. Rogers to get with my dad, not to go to jail!”

“Peter you want what!?” Tony pokes his head around the door (left open 3 inches, per his rules), and Harley sits up straight, fast. So fast that he ends up hitting his head with Peter’s while Tony laughs at them.

“Now you’ve just made yourself look suspicious,” he says, still grinning and leaning against the door jamb, “that door rule is gonna go up, Mister and Mister.” 

He knows that they’re not going to do anything unsafe, or have sex (while he’s still home, at least) and both of them are smarter, emotionally, than he was at that age, but he is a father, so, three-inch rule.

Peter just rolls his eyes, knowing full well that it won’t.

“Anyway, whatever you’re planning, please don’t put Ste-- Mr. Rogers in jail, he’s the best teacher in that school,” Tony says. 

“Yeah, that’s the _only_ reason,” Harley mutters from his new place, mirroring Peter and leaning against the wall. Peter’s lap was more comfortable.

Tony glares at him without any heat, “Peter, this cretin you’ve dragged in is no longer allowed in the Stark household.”

“Just because you’re jealous--” Peter starts, if only to wind his dad up. 

“I hate to break your heart, Petey-pie, but I’m not incredibly jealous of kids who can’t even drive yet.”

“_Technically_ I know how to drive--” Harley starts, to be interrupted by Tony.

“Very very different to having an actual legal license,” he says, putting on his best Dad Face. He’s not having Peter and Peter’s Important Person (boyfriend, regardless of how juvenile, still seems so, so grown-up) die in a stickshift truck they barely know how to use.

Kids these days will only learn automatic anyway.

(God, he’s getting old.)

“Flex,” Peter says, sticking his tongue out.

“Is the ability to cook also what you kids call a ‘freaky flex’?” Tony teases, knowing that’s not the term at all, but he’s getting old so he may as well embrace it through what his therapist would probably call ‘using humour to cope’, and what other way to do that than be what he’s never thought he’d be: an embarrassing (which really just meant ‘shameless, 40+ edition), mildly out of touch, middle-aged dad.

“Because you kids, not only get lasagne, but also, something I never had at your age,” Tony’s really putting on the ‘old man’ voice now, wagging his finger at them and talking over Peter’s groans and Harley’s laughs, “a _choice_, chips or garlic bread?”

“Did you really just do all of that to ask a question you already know the answer to?” Peter asks, face still in his hands.

“Nah, I gotta make sure you two aren’t up to any monkey business,” Tony says, grinning, ducking back out of Peter’s room with a wave to take a phone call.

Peter throws a pillow at him as he goes, still slightly red.

“You’re cute,” Harley says, conversationally, even though his heart is still jack-hammering the way it did when he first met him. Peter goes red again and throws a pillow at him.

“Do you think that he’ll do it?” Harley asks, after a beat of silence.

“My dad or Mr. Rogers?”

Harley shrugs, “Either of them?”

Peter sighs, he knows that both of them are good people and would want to donate to charity, except he doesn’t know if his dad really isn’t actually into Mr. Rogers, or if Mr. Rogers actually likes him, but his dad deserves happiness. Not that Peter thinks that he makes his dad sad or anything, but he knows that his dad dedicated the past seventeen years of his life to him, Uncle Rhodey told him what he was like before he was born, drinking, playboy-ing, all the reasons why he didn’t let him go to that party so many months ago. He also told him about how he gave that life up, stepped down from his company, all for him. Hell, in all the time Peter’s been alive, he can recall the number of times his dad went on a date (discounting anything with Mr. Rogers) on one hand.

His dad gave everything up for him, so it’s only right that Peter at least tries to help him find someone.

-

“So, what’s your plan to put Steve in jail?” Tony asks, when they sit down for dinner, plates laden with steaming lasagne and buttery garlic bread.

“Oh, he’s ‘Steve’ now?” Peter says, without any real harsh feeling. 

Tony gives Peter a withering look, “Okay then, Spidey, what’s your plan that ends with _Mr. Rogers_ in gen pop?”

“We can’t tell you,” Harley cuts in, covering Peter’s mouth with his hand, “and anyway, he’s not going to jail, it’s in his best interest.”

“You can’t ask him out if he’s in jail,” Peter adds, helpfully, slightly muffled by Harley’s hand.

Tony rolls his eyes again, “Eat,” he presses, not so subtly completely dodging the topic altogether.

He likes Steve. A lot. They’ve gotten coffee and dinner and he’s gone on walks with him and his dog, he’s funny and nice and ridiculously hot, not to mention single and gay. But he’s also, like, ten years younger than him, and a father. Not that Steve’s ever even mentioned it, or let that stop him from flirting. 

Peter gasps, eyes lighting up, knocking Tony out of his thoughts, “You’re gonna ask him out, aren’t you?”

“Who’s to say,” Tony says, with a wave of his hand.

“Okay dad,” Peter says, smugly.

“Eat your damn lasagne,” Tony grumbles, and thankfully, that’s the end of that.

Later, after Harley’s gone home and Peter’s about to go to sleep, Tony knocks on his door, “Hey kid, mind if I sit?”

Peter nods, sitting up and turning his phone off. His dad looks serious.

“Listen, Peter,” he starts, after he sits down next to him, “I know that it’s just been us, for a long time, and a new person might change that, but I want you to know that you’re always going to be my first priority, no matter what happens, it’s always going to be you, first and foremost.”

Peter nods, “But I want you to find someone, someone who makes you happy.”

“Pete, you make me happy, you make me so much more happier than I ever thought I could be, if I find someone, that's not going to be because you don’t make me happy enough, you, Peter, will always be more than enough for me.”

Tony tugs Peter into a hug and presses a kiss to the top of his head, “I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.” Peter pulls away after a few seconds, “But you do like Mr. Rogers, right?”

“Yeah, Pete, I do, and if you don’t, or if you don’t like the idea, I’ll stop, just say the word.”

“I think he’ll be good for you,” Peter says, honestly, and he does, he’s seen his dad after going to coffee with him and he seems lighter after, less stressed. Happier. 

Tony nods, “Okay, whatever you’re going to do, please don’t put him in jail,” he says, smiling and getting up.

“No promises,” Peter says, cheekily, sliding back down under the comforter.

“Of course, make it a short sentence if you have to,” Tony makes his way to the door, about to shut the light off, “don’t stay up too late, last week of school doesn’t mean you get to slack off.”

“You did!” 

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Tony refuses to let Peter make the same, stupid, dangerous mistakes he did.

Peter mimics him, faux sulkily.

“Yeah, yeah, night Petey,” Tony says, chuckling.

“Night, Dad,” Peter says, automatically, settling back down when his dad turns off the light and softly closes the door behind him when he goes.

-

The next week flies by in a flurry of summer assignments and teachers reinforcing the importance of next year and pushing them to consider college majors.

“I know that many of you have been told to think about your college majors, base them on your elective, skills, likes and so on, over the summer, maybe get work experience, but I want you to remember to be kids, have fun,” Mr. Rogers says, at the end of their last lesson, “I also know that many of you have a lot of potential, not necessarily in art, or academics, but all of you have the potential to do whatever you want to, don’t throw it away.”

He pauses, probably for dramatic effect. He’s one of the only teachers in the school who people will actually listen to and take in what he’s saying, and not poke endless fun at. Peter doesn’t know what it is, something in his register, the way he talks, or the way he seems to genuinely respect them, but he lets his words settle around him and takes them in.

“Have a good summer,” he says, finally, “and don’t forget to come to the charity carnival, if you aren’t hosting a booth, and to those who are, have fun!”

He stands by the door when he dismisses them and most people thank him, Peter and MJ stay behind.

“MJ, Peter! What can I do for you?” Mr. Rogers asks, leaning against his desk.

“I, well, for our booth thing, y’know, for the carnival--” Peter stutters out. This was a lot harder than it seemed a minute ago.

“What Peter means to ask is,” MJ cuts in smoothly, “would you be one of our volunteers in the ‘21 and over’ section of our kissing booth for the charity carnival?”

“What, exactly, do you want me to do?” Steve’s single, and he knows that Peter knew that from his dad, so if what he thinks they’re going to make him do is what they’re going to ask, it won’t be a problem. And if Tony’s going to be there, it will be the very opposite of a problem. (And maybe even a problem of the other kind.)

“Well, you’ll be blindfolded and people--” “Over 21!” “--over 21, yeah, will pay five dollars to kiss you,” MJ explains, and Peter just about stops himself from telling him that his dad was probably going to be there. 

Mr. Rogers narrows his eyes at them, Steve refuses to say exactly what he thinks this is similar to and instead says, “Yeah, okay, but I can only be on until 7, for the first hour or so, is that okay?”

Peter grins at him and he sees MJ relax a bit, “Yeah, that’s good. Thank you, sir! We’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“You can count on it,” he assures, smiling and nodding to them as they go. He moves to sit properly at his desk and opens his laptop to check his emails and to go through some end-of-year admin when Tony texts him. He feels very much like the kids he teaches when his heart jumps at the notification.

**Tony** _now_  
Did you know my kid might give y[...] 

He supposes that the admin can wait.

-

Peter spent the rest of his time in the Art & Design block making the booth with Harley. Well. Not as much _making_ as throwing paint on Harley and Ned until MJ stars yelling at them to actually make it, lest Mr. Rogers and Peter‘s dad never get together.

“Y’know,” she says, leaning against a belt sander, a spray bottle filled with water dangling between her fingers, “there’s probably an easier way to do this, just set them up, or something.”

“Yeah,” Peter admits, adjusting a clamp, “but this way is more fun.”

Harley flicks paint at him again, “It’s also the way most likely to go wrong.” MJ sighs and sprays him multiple times until he puts the paintbrush down.

“Just paint,” Peter says, poking him with a dowel and batting away his hands when he tried to poke him back.

“Sir yes sir,” Harley drawls, winking.

MJ sprays him again.

-

They’re getting in the finishing touches when Mr. Rogers and Miss. Romanoff come around to check on them, before the carnival opens to the public with Ned hurridly finishing the wiring for the lights and MJ adding the last of the details on the signs.

“Everyone ready?” Miss. Romanoff asks, double-checking their money box while Mr. Rogers goes around to talk to the volunteers.

“Yeah,” MJ says, setting down her sharpie.

Miss. Romanoff looks around for a bit before humming in approval, “I’m going to be around to make sure that none of you are doing anything you shouldn’t be, all of you are exemplar students, so if I see any of you taking money for yourself…” she trails off and fixes each of them with a glare, including the volunteers. Including Mr. Rogers and a few of the other teachers.

“Good,” she says after a beat, nodding and moving on to the booth next to theirs. They let out a collective breath, a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how you’ve worked with her without getting any greys,” Harley says to Mr. Rogers after he comes back to the front with them, when he thinks that she’s out of earshot. She wasn’t, but the kids didn’t need to know that.

“She’s softer than she lets on,” Mr. Rogers says, conspiringly, loud enough for her to hear.

“Lies and slander, Rogers, don’t let me catch you doing it again,” she says, mildly, without turning around.

“All I get from this job is abuse,” Mr. Rogers mutters under his breath, “anyway, if you need anything you know where I am, yeah?”

“Yep, we’ll tell you when an hour’s up,” MJ says, as much as the booth was Peter’s idea, MJ runs it well. Mr. Rogers nods and goes to the 21+ section, tying on a blindfold easily. 

They can hear Mr. Barton announcing the carnival open, encouraging people to donate, the profits of the carnival will be split between Cancer Research and Coalition for the Homeless, as per a vote they held last week. The place floods with patrons, fast, parents, siblings, townsfolk, even some people from neighbouring schools, it becomes less of a school event and more of a ‘real’ carnival in a couple of minutes.

Everything goes smoothly, until Peter gets a text from his dad.

**old man yells at cloud**   
Hey, Pete, I’m sorry, I’m gonna be late to the carnival, an hour tops, someone messed something up and Pepper’s still on her honeymoon, so I had to sort it out. I’ll see you soon. x  
_sent 1m ago_

Peter sighs and quickly responds. Maybe the whole plan was useless anyway, if Mr. Rogers has to chaperone before his dad can come. “You okay?” Harley asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just. My dad’s gonna be late, not his fault, and Mr. Rogers’ hour might be up before he comes.” He’d really, really hoped that this would work, but maybe the universe is trying to send him a sign, via messed up SI paperwork. _Strange choice, universe,_ he muses.

“I’m sorry, Pete, I know you really wanted this to work for him,” Harley says, tugging him into a hug. Peter hums and melts into his embrace. Maybe they’ll ask each other out in a more normal, less prostitute-like way. 

Their booth becomes popular fast, with surprisingly few of his classmates, falsely entitled seniors and a couple of bold freshmen trying to get into the 21 and over section. It’s a whirlwind of demands and people and cheers and when Peter checks his watch for the first time it hasn’t even been a full hour yet.

He sees many people already ask to go off early, because their crush kissed them, so he knows that it wasn’t that much of a failure, and in their place, many have also asked if they could be one of the volunteers, so everything balances itself, somehow.

“Y’know,” Harley starts, handing Peter a can of coke, “if you were up there, I would spend my college fund to kiss you,” he smiles, going for rakish and places a hand on his waist.

Peter laughs, and leans closer, the rest of the carnival falling deaf to his ears, “You are aware that the minimum is five dollars, right?”

“You make me make bad financial decisions?” Harley tries, going to close the gap, only to headbutt into a hand, “What the--”

“That’s not something I want to see, Mr. Keener, if you’re that bad at finances then I’m sure there are some summer courses you might want to attend.”

Peter groans and drops his head on Harley’s shoulder, half expecting his dad to interrupt that as well, “Dad!”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Tony teases, “after all those texts, god, you kids are demanding, you know that?”

“You parents are kiss-blocking, you know that?” Peter snarks back, straightening up, without any heat. 

“Yeah, we tend to do that, I see that your booth is pretty popular,” Tony comments, unconcerned, looking around under the guise of simply checking out the booth, and not, in fact, checking out the, quite frankly, wonderful backside of a certain art teacher. Based on Peter’s looks, he’s not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.

“Stark!” 

“Ah! Natalia! Your talents are wasted here!” Tony says, as he does every time he meets Natasha at Midtown.

“And your hiring abilities are abysmal, but what else is new?” She remarks, greeting him with a hug, “If you’re here for Steve, you’re out of luck, he’s on the booth, kissing all night.” She goes before Tony can say anything else to her.

Something suddenly dawns on Tony and he turns to his son in mock betrayal, “You’re going to get my friend convicted for noncery.”

“_21 and over!_” Peter stresses, gesturing to the ‘adult’ half of the stage. “And anyway, he’s off in, like, ten minutes anyway.”

_Ten minutes!? His line is literally the entire population of Manhattan!_

Something else dawns on Tony now, “You wanted me to donate so I could kiss Steve, right?”

“Yeah…” Peter admits, sheepishly. To be fair, he’s surprised it took his dad this long to figure it out. He gets pulled in for a rough hug.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Peter Parker Stark, now, how much do I have to donate to be bumped to the front of Steve’s line?”

“Uh, I don’t know, ask Aunt Nat?” Peter means it when he says he will do anything if it meant that his dad would be happy, but something he learnt early on from Uncle Rhodey, is that just because you’re willing to go all the way, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the best way.  
Considering now, he could just tell his dad to go on straight-up now to Steve, but then Nat would be threatening them, and maybe something would get out about the great Tony Stark not donating to his kid’s school.

“Leeds, give me a number!” Natasha barks, pointing at him with a ruler. Teachers always had rulers with them.

“Uh. 327?”

Peter high-fives him as Harley and MJ groan and call them nerds, Miss. Romanoff nods and holds her hand out. Peter’s dad pulls his phone out instead of his wallet and shows her what he’s doing.

“Acceptable,” she says, something else in her eyes, taking him by the elbow and dragging him to Mr. Rogers’ line.

“He likes you,” Nat says, conversationally, as if Tony’s not having a million heart attacks simultaneously right now.

“We’ll see, do I need a mint? Probably.” He takes one from the front as Nat explains to the rest of the people in the line why Tony gets to cut in front. He watches Steve blindly kiss some blond, cocky guy - that man looks damn good in a blindfold - with irrational jealousy coursing through him, _he’s doing it for a good cause_. Steve looks like he would be a good kisser, the way he’s holding the blond asshole, practically eating his face. Although that part seems more of the numbskull than him. But still. He has half a mind to pull Gelled-Spikes off Steve when he sees his hand wander lower. _He’s doing it for a good cause._

He repeats, the mantra a little more forcefully in his head when the guy says, “Name’s Johnny Storm, maybe I’ll see you around?” squeezing Steve’s ass as he goes. He pretends that the ugly green monster didn’t rear it’s head when Steve catches his elbow and whispers something in his ear.

“Go!” Nat urges with a little push, knocking him out of the cloud of jealousy and insecurity. The shove makes him move aside all the thoughts of what if Steve’s into this Johnny guy? and _what if he’s waited too long?_

_Now or never, Stark_

Tony doesn’t say anything as he walks up to Steve, maybe he should, but he vetoes the idea when he finds his mouth dry, heart beating so fast he thinks he’s in danger of a cardiac arrest when Steve rests his hand on Tony’s hip and suddenly they’re incredibly close. Close enough that Tony can smell his aftershave.

“Hey,” Steve says, trailing his other hand along Tony’s body, not quite touching, just hovering above. Trying to find his face, Tony realises belatedly as it rests, warm, on his cheek, long fingers grazing the greys he pretends don't exist on his temple.

Tony panics, internally, there’s a small, exponentially increasing, part of him that wants to keep himself secret, “Je ne parle pas Anglais, mon chèr,” _I don’t speak English, my darling,_ he says, letting the endearment slip, hoping, maybe the rusty French might disguise him.

Steve smiles and says, “Aucun problème du tout,” _No problem at all,_ far smoother than Tony had. “Puis-je vous embrasser maintenant?” _Can I kiss you now?_

“S'il vous plaît,” _Please,_ Tony says, almost pleadingly, moving his hands to mirror Steve’s as he leans up, almost on his tiptoes.

Not unlike all the dumb, cheesy John Hughes movies they once spent an entire weekend watching when Peter was over at Harley’s, all Tony can focus on is Steve, and his hands on his waist, his soft hair under his fingers and his breath fanning over his lips, the rest of the carnival disappears around them, all the screaming, the godawful pop songs fade away to leave Steve, and him only.

He leans down, closes the gap and everything stills, the constant urge to _move_, his heart slows and his muscles relax as Steve kisses him. He tastes inexplicably of some flavoured cola, and something sweeter under that, he’s warm and solid, pressed up against Tony so close it seems almost impossible when he pulls him even closer, sighing into the kiss. It’s slow and calm, full of heat, but not frantic, brand new but natural and instinctual, like he should have been doing this 

“Je savais que je pourrais vous faire demander, Stark.” _I knew I could make you beg, Stark._ Steve says, low and smiling, when they pull away, just barely enough to talk, eyes still covered by the blindfold.

“Tu m'as eu,” _You got me,_ Tony replies, softly, not even that concerned that Steve realised that it was him, because now he knows for sure that Steve’s into him. No-one kisses someone they don’t like that way. _Then what was he doing with Johnny earlier?_ He shoves that thought to the side, in favour of reaching up to tug the blindfold off.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Tony’s likelihood of a cardiac arrest goes straight back up again, but this time, it’s less from pure nerves, and more the very probability of a date. And then maybe something more. If he can just ask Steve out. Not so difficult in theory, but that kiss took half of what brain cells he had left.

“So, come here often?” Tony tries, when he realises that they’ve been staring at each other for what should be far too long.

Steve laughs, blushing and ducking his head, he opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and just kisses Tony instead. He decides that he much prefers Steve-kisses to talking.

When the lights and the sounds of the carnival finally filter back in, Tony realises that quite a few kids, including his own, are cheering, shouts of ‘Way to go Mr. Rogers’ and other variations coming from some of his students and also Clint and Nat. Steve looks around sheepishly, also just realising again where they are.

“Wanna get out of here?” Tony asks, slipping his hand into Steve’s with increasing confidence. Steve nods and tugs him behind the stage with a nod to someone over Tony’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Steve says, a little breathlessly, relaxing a little in the privacy of their little alcove amongst strewn soda cans and covered wires. They’re still close, holding hands.

“Hey,” Tony says back, giddy feeling still there and prevalent, but a seriousness falls over them, the trepidation and childish butterflies replaced by adult responsibilities and an intense feeling to do this right. Whatever _this_ was going to be. “Listen, Steve,” he starts, “I like you, a lot, but you gotta know my priorities, Peter comes first, always. And I don’t know how much you want to be with a guy who’ll never put you first.” The _and ten years older_ goes unsaid.

“Tony,” Steve puts his hands back around his waist and steps into his space, looking straight into his eyes, “you’re a father, I wouldn’t expect anything else, I really like you too and I want to make this, us, work.”

“I do too,” Tony says, smiling, quietly, and Steve’s smiling back, like it really is that simple. And it probably is. Steve’s bright, even in the harl-darkness of their small hiding spot, he’s so damn bright and grinning, really what else is Tony to do than kiss him. So he does. 

“If we can’t, you can’t”

Or, well, attempts to.

“Yeah, I had that coming” Tony admits in a mumble before turning around, still in Steve’s arms, to see Peter grinning and Harley eating popcorn. Steve tugs him close and leans his chin on Tony’s shoulder.

“Different rules for us,” he says, and Tony can feel his chest rumbling against his back as he laughs. Tony doesn’t say anything, just leans against Steve and watches him bicker on the merits of rules regarding age with Peter and Harley. 

Nat finds them before it turns into a full-on, heated debate, which, knowing all three of them, it very well could turn into, and drags them out, Peter and Harley still had to run the booth.

“You wanna go to the diner?” Steve asks, catching Tony’s hand in his own as they walk to the front of the booth. The diner is a five minute walk away, far enough that they probably won’t be able to hear the carnival, but close enough they can still get there if they need to. And it’s much better than driving all the way back home for the night.

“Don’t you have to supervise?” Tony remembers Steve telling him that he had to supervise the carnival, _in case of grand larceny_.

“Eh,” he shrugs, “swapped with Buck, I’m on clean up.” He hated clean-up after these things, which is why he always convinced Clint to give him supervision, the sheer amount of mess highschoolers could make in a mere five hours never failed to astound him, even as an art teacher, arguably the messiest subject (arguably because _biology_).

They hold hands the entire way to the diner they’ve been to millions of times before, it’s charged and flirty and it’s only a matter of time before Steve’s looking at him in a certain way and Tony’s throwing a hundred on the table and pulling him out of the door and pushing him against the wall of the alleyway.

“Come home with me?” He says, slightly conscious of just how soft-porn he sounds, it’s been a while since he’s done this, but he finds that so much of it comes back naturally as he trails soft kisses along his jaw and works his hands under his shirt, just slipping under the hem.

“How far out do you live?” Steve says, breathlessly, tilting his head back. There’s something inside Tony that gives him a primal sense of satisfaction when he makes Steve, ridiculously muscled and fit, breathless. He’s seen him do all the JROTC training with the kids and the dreaded bleep test without breaking a sweat, so this, this is new. 

It takes a moment for the question to filter in, “20 minutes,” he says in between kisses. Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat that Tony realises with wonder is a _whine_.

“What, can’t make it?” Tony teases, fingers playing over the small of his back. To be fair, Tony’s doubting his own abilities to not just pull over halfway there.

Steve gives him another look, “You’re going to be the death of me, Stark,” he says and Tony gets his karma for the second him of the night when, instead of going to the overflow carpark opened for the carnival where Tony’s parked, Steve takes him to the teacher’s carpark and shoves a helmet in his hands.

“You’re kidding,” Tony deadpans when Steve swings his legs to straddle his bike and revs it. He'd never really found motorists that hot, despite his love of cars, but there’s something about Steve, sitting so casually on a bike.

“You’ve known me for a whole year and never rode this, it’s time I right some wrongs.”

“This isn’t the thing of yours I want to ride, sweetheart,” Tony says, even as he climbs on and holds tight, pressing against him, grinning at he sees the back of Steve’s neck and the tip of his ear glow red.

_He’s going to be good for me,_ Tony thinks as they zip through New York, laughing. He owes Peter one less inch.

**Author's Note:**

> for the non-british - noncery: derived from 'nonce' [british. pedophile], meaning pedophilic behavior, not recognised as a 'real word'
> 
> thanks for reading!   
tumblr: ineffablestarkrogers


End file.
